


tie tongue

by tempalays (contramine)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BDSM dynamics, Bondage, Breeding Kink, Knifeplay, M/M, Post Timeskip, SSC, a super super super tiny amount of blood, appropriate aftercare, dom Felix, handjobs, like the equivalent of grazing your knee, please read the authors note for more in depth info, sub Sylvain, sylvain gets off to the idea of being captured and fucked by enemy forces, sylvain is tied to a chair lol, technically daggerplay, the blood is not consumed or played with, whether its a rape fantasy is questionable, whew where do we start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contramine/pseuds/tempalays
Summary: There's something about having Sylvain tied to a chair in the dead of night, forced to be silent while Felix drags the blade of a House Fraldarius family heirloom across his skin that is justaddicting.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	tie tongue

**Author's Note:**

> well. this certainly exists.
> 
> a/n i:  
> regarding the rape fantasy section, hypothetically if you were captured and fucked by enemy forces in the fe3h universe more than likely it would not be consensual, however this isn't stated in the fic, nor is it specifically labelled as being rape when the scenario is described. felix doesn't imply whether it would be consensual or not and if sylvain is uncomfortable with the fantasy being suggested he has the ability to safeword out of the situation. it's more than possible that sylvain could be given the opportunity to give consent in this hypothetical fantasy, but whether this would be an option isn't explored in the fic. in writing my intention was that sylvain gets off to the thought of being fucked by the enemy (even if it is consensual!) and not at the idea of being raped. this might be a lot of explanation for a 500 word section of a fic but i want you to be well informed before reading so you can make appropriate decisions for yourself!
> 
> if you're interested in reading but want to skip all of that entirely, stop reading at **“It’s almost like you’ve been captured,** and start back again at **“Please..”**.
> 
> a/n ii:  
> based on the fact that the name Dimitri exists I've decided that the slavic language family exists in the fe3h universe. given that, shchenok means puppy in russian.

“Come on now, Sylvain. It’d be a shame if you were to show up to instruction tomorrow only for Byleth to ask why your arms are suddenly bandaged. If knowing you since I was a child has taught me anything it’s that you aren’t a skilled liar.” Felix murmurs smoothly. The words curl against the skin of Sylvain’s neck as he watches how Felix drags the blade down his forearm, the Fraldarius crest almost mocking him as it shines under the light of the fireplace. It’s easy to get lost in the motions of it all, Sylvain’s eyes dragging up and down his own arm as he follows Felix and the trail of his dagger devotionally. 

Felix watches from behind for a while, never looking at Sylvain’s face but desperately clinging onto the speechless whines that escape from his throat when he digs the blade into his skin a little harder. “Are you scared, Sylvain?” Felix questions in a quiet murmur, bringing his head to rest on his shoulder. Sylvain breathes out unevenly and Felix can feel him swallow, forcing himself to wet his throat when all there is to breathe in is the cold, dryness of the air. He looks down at Sylvain’s torso and sees countless nicks still healing after weeks, and lacy scars that cover his chest and abdomen that are only visible to the trained eye. That’s because of you, he thinks. He trusts you so much he’s willing to keep you on him forever. 

“Never scared,” Sylvain shudders as Felix presses the dagger into his arm deep enough that it cuts through a few layers of skin, but not far enough to draw blood. “Not with you.” He licks his lips and sags back into the chair, head tipping backward as he offers his neck. Having Sylvain tied to the chair like this without being able to see him feels like a waste; Sylvain giving himself to him like this is not a regular occurrence, and so Felix decides to move himself and circle so that he can properly see him. As he walks he takes a note of the places where Sylvain is attached to the chair, his wrists and ankles, to make sure the fabric isn’t cutting off his blood supply. A quick glance proves that he’s fine, the knots don’t look loose; they should withstand the rest of what Felix has planned without losing any of their resilience.

Each of Sylvain’s ankles are tied to the legs of the chair, forcing his legs open for Felix to place himself between and do what he wants. He’s still partially clothed, loose alabaster coloured cotton under trousers hanging from his legs, but despite them Felix can see the print of Sylvain’s cock beneath the thin material anyway, pressing against it and leaking a messy patch of precome that seeps though the fabric. His undershirt has long since been discarded, laying crumpled on top of a pile of the rest of his clothes on Felix’s bed. 

His favourite part is how when Sylvain’s wrists are tied behind him it forces his chest out; he has no choice but to proffer himself and hope that Felix will accept him. He’s always been the larger out of the two, but Sylvain is so much bigger now than he used to be; shirtless like this Felix can see it clearly, how much he’s grown over the past six years. His shoulders have broadened and become an expanse of tight sinewy muscle from continuous use of his lance, and when he looks down at his stomach he’s met by the sharp silhouette of Sylvain’s hip-bones beneath equally defined stomach muscles. Felix drags the tip of the dagger between his pectorals until small pearls of blood start to bloom from his chest. Each time Felix draws blood the air in Sylvain’s lungs rushes out with a quickness and leaves him gasping; he has yet to do any real damage or anything that will scar, yet Sylvain reacts the same way he would if Felix was pressing the blade into his skin and carving out his name. 

He can tell that Sylvain is getting overwhelmed. As Felix moves his face closer to his he feels how hot his skin is; when he presses his fingers against Sylvain’s cheek he reflexively pulls them away because of the heat and then notes that most of the skin going down to his chest is flushed in a similar way. “Do you need me to stop?” Felix asks, and pulls the dagger away from its position resting on Sylvain’s thigh, ready to slice through his restraints if he so much as suggests he’s uncomfortable.

When Sylvain feels the blade disappear he responds with a pathetic little whine that barely reaches his throat before it collapses in on itself into nothingness. His eyes are still screwed shut and when Felix doesn’t replace the blade he realises he’s looking for a verbal response.

“Please don’t.” Sylvain shakes his head and attempts at opening his legs even wider, as if it’ll entice Felix to fill the space between them. He nods despite Sylvain not looking at him and brings the dagger to his mouth before placing it back on his skin, warming it so it’s less of a shock, and so that Sylvain doesn’t jerk forward. In the end it doesn’t matter, because the moment Felix presses it against his chest he preens forward, his strength as he pulls against the restraints making the chair creak beneath him. 

“What do you want, Sylvain?” Felix asks, because ultimately this is all for him. Sylvain was the one who shoved a blunt pen knife into his hand all those months ago and asked Felix desperately to trace the plane of his stomach with it before Sylvain fucked him. Felix won't lie and say that he doesn’t look forward to when Sylvain pulls him to the side and tells him in hushed tones that he needs to be tied down and hurt, but this isn’t for him the way it is for Sylvain. 

Sylvain has yet to reply, and Felix questions whether he even heard him ask in the first place. He drags the dagger across one of his pectorals, and the depth of the cut has Sylvain thrashing forward in the chair and reflexively looking at the cut as it weeps a thin trickle of blood that combines with the sweat across his stomach. Felix doesn’t acknowledge the wound but grips the dagger more tightly and draws it up his chest and towards his neck. When it broaches the small space between his collarbones and reaches his Adam's apple Sylvain begins to blanch, tipping his head devotionally upward and offering his throat to Felix. He wouldn’t ever cut Sylvain’s neck, the skin too thin and the proximity of his jugular vein too close for him to even want to risk it, not to mention how obvious it would be to the others if Sylvain started walking around with little knicks across his neck, but he toys with the idea. As he draws the blade upwards he adds more pressure at random intervals just to suggest cutting the skin there, and it seems to be enough for Sylvain, who lets out muted little whines each time he does it. Felix doesn’t stop until the tip of his dagger is pressed against his chin, pushing Sylvain’s head back as far as it will go and forcing him to stare at the wooden beams of the ceiling.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks, gripping the dagger harder but maintaining the pressure against Sylvain’s chin. Syklvain grinds his teeth out of displeasure, but that’s all he can do. Opening his mouth to speak would press the dagger further into his chin, and moving his head to nod risks incurring even more damage, so he stays still. Tied to the chair and unable to speak, Sylvain is rendered completely helpless, and Felix figures that it’s a nice change from usual. He’s so used to him being obnoxiously loud that being the one to finally draw out enough of Sylvain that he simmers down into something more obedient and subdued is satisfying. Like a dog, almost.

“No? How about you tell me what you want and I’ll see what I can do.” Felix placates him, bringing his free hand up to Sylvain’s hairline and running his fingers through his hair, before eventually resting his palm against his shoulder, digging his fingers into the thick layer muscle there. Sylvain winces but stays silent. He’s smart, Felix thinks. He’s played enough of this game before that he knows the rules. 

“It’s almost like you’ve been captured, have you thought about that?” Felix says as an afterthought and motions towards the bindings keeping Sylvain attached to the chair, and Felix wishes he could remove himself and enter the ether just so he can relive this moment over and over until he ceases to exist. Before they started Felix was considering gagging him with one of his cravats, but he’s so glad he didn’t if only because now he gets to hear Sylvain’s broken moans that devolve into pathetic whimpers once he realises how helpless he is. “Have I touched a nerve, Gautier?” 

Felix pulls the dagger away from Sylvain’s chin and his entire body shudders, the chair beginning to creak warningly as each of his limbs strain against their restraints as he tries to move. A small part of Felix feels almost guilty for leaving it this long to touch him as he looks down at Sylvain’s cock, pressed up against the material of his pants and still leaking precome. Sylvain doesn’t complain though, even now when the dagger is resting on the wooden side table beside them and no longer a threat. He remains totally silent as Felix tugs off the last of his clothes until they heap on the floor, save for a sharp inhale when the material scratches against his cock.

“I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Felix sneers as he straddles him, resting his arms over Sylvain’s shoulders and settling himself onto his thighs. They’ve never discussed this topic before but Felix trusts Sylvain enough that if it gets to be too much he’ll say something. He remains silent but Felix can tell that the emotion covering Sylvain’s face as he turns his head to the side to look away from him is embarrassment. “Kidnapped by an enemy and brought back to their base just to be used by them, picked up from the street like a common whore.” Sylvain begins to moan more loudly, and Felix can pinpoint this as the moment he starts to fall apart. Felix would welcome it usually, but it’s so late and the walls aren’t thick enough to contain the sound; he glances quickly towards the door just to redirect his hearing and see if he can hear anyone in the corridor outside.

“Dima is next door beloved,” Felix picks up the dagger and presses the flat side against Sylvain’s thigh where his skin becomes soft. “Let’s not disturb him, hm?” Felix shifts further onto Sylvain’s lap and wraps his legs behind the back of the chair to support himself. 

“Perhaps they’d strip you of your armour and reclothe you in their own uniforms. Pass you around like you’re their own whore and not the heir of the Margravate Gautier,” Sylvain tries to buck his hips upward but Felix’s weight keeps him firmly pinned down against the chair. “They do things differently outside of Fódlan, you know. I heard that some clans in Morfis use breeding benches if it’s requested of them.” Felix says without feeling. It’s a lie but it’s more than worth it to see Sylvain’s face screwed up as he chokes down a moan, imagining being positioned on a breeding bench, each of his limbs fixed to the wooden arms with thick leather straps.

“Please..”

It’s the first thing Sylvain’s said this whole time, and it’s barely more than a whisper.

“What do you want, Sylvain. Use your words.” Felix leers, cupping one of his cheeks with the hand not holding the dagger. The action is surprisingly tender and diametrically opposes the harsh bite of his words, and Felix feels a momentary burst of pride in himself as he watches Sylvain struggle to sift through his thoughts. 

“Everything… please Felix.” Sylvain begs. He’s so pretty Felix thinks. All of him is tinged in red, freckles disappearing into the flush of his skin, almost matching the colour of his hair. And his lips, glossy from spit and dark red from being bitten; if Felix wasn’t holding the dagger he’d use the hand to shove his fingers into his mouth and make him suck.

“All of it?” Felix pushes, looking for Sylvain to spell it out to him. He wants to hear in disgusting detail what he needs, exactly how he wants Felix to whore him out and use him, because after years of chasing him and always being a few steps behind he finally gets to be the only one that Sylvain looks at and he relishes in it. 

Sylvain nods. 

“Everything… ngh f-fuck, please please just touch me Felix.” Sylvain is so, so desperate and part of Felix wants to go on and keep teasing him, maybe make him come untouched with just his words, but the risk of Sylvain destroying his chair becomes more of a possibility every moment that he isn’t being touched. He decides to humour him and drops the dagger, wincing as it clatters obnoxiously loudly against the uneven stone floor. Dimitri has definitely woken up because of it but Felix doesn’t care, spitting on his palm and reaching down for Sylvain’s cock.

“Maybe now that you’re being touched you can answer my question.” Felix says, wrapping his hand around him and slowly dragging his palm down to the base of his cock. He’s been whining and moaning on and off for the whole evening, but once Felix touches him Sylvain has no interest in being quiet anymore. He tightens his grip around him and Sylvain yells so loudly it makes the hair on Felix’s neck raise. “Tell me what you want, Sylvain.”

“Please, fuck, w-what you said,” Felix digs his nail into his slit just to watch him shudder. “Wanna be bred.” And god, when Felix mentioned it earlier he was half joking in a moment of bravery, expecting it to be one of those things said in the heat of the moment that doesn’t get brought up again, but Sylvain’s clearly been fixated on it since it was mentioned. Just the image of him tied down, ass in the air with come leaking out of his hole and dripping down the backs of his thighs is so overwhelming that part of Felix wants to stop what he’s doing and abandon Sylvain to get himself off to the thought of it. 

“And who do you want to breed you, shchenok?” Felix asks against his neck breathlessly. It’s difficult, finding the words to speak and jerking Sylvain off at the same time while half of his brain is dedicated to thinking about him being bred. He can barely hold himself up and he relies on Sylvain for support, straddling him and leaning against his chest, head resting on his shoulder. 

“You, Felix… fuck,” Felix can barely fit his hand around him but he goes faster, squeezing the base of his cock and dragging his hand upwards before glossing his palm, soft skinned and sticky, over his cockhead. “Please breed me please please… need it.” He can tell that Sylvain is almost totally mindless without needing to look at him from the way his words are slurred together. Felix doesn’t bother responding, speaking requires too much concentration let alone figuring out what he would say anyway. He’s happy to finish Sylvain off to the tune of little broken whines between barely coherent mumbles of ‘breed me’. 

Felix goes faster and faster and his wrist aches from it, but he doesn’t stop until the wet shlick of precome and spit echoes from the thick stone walls. Sylvain cries ‘‘m gonna come’ but it isn’t a declaration more so a thinly veiled ask for permission. Felix knows he won't come until he allows it and he decides he can afford to drag it out just a little longer, slowing his movements until he’s just rubbing his thumb over the tip of his cock.

“Please let me come Felix please I need to-” Sylvain begs, and his words die in his throat as Felix finishes him off with a few wet strokes, precome dripping down his fingers.

“You can come, beloved.” Felix murmurs. He strokes faster as Sylvain comes with a shout, spilling over his hands, across the dark material of Felix’s trousers and over his chest. 

“Fuck, Felix it’sso good.” Sylvain slurs, lifting his head so he can look at him. Felix isn’t finished with him yet though and squeezes his cock one more time, milking the last spurts of come out of him until he’s fully spent. When he lifts his fingers to Sylvain’s mouth for him to clean off he accepts them without hesitation, sucking them in until his cheeks hollow. When Felix pulls him out he’s met with a petulant whimper and he wipes the excess saliva on Sylvain’s chest. 

Getting Sylvain onto his bed is the next task, and the most difficult. His head lolls to the side as the exhaustion from being toyed with for so long starts to set in, and Felix at one point has to snap his fingers in front of his face to get him to focus on him so he doesn’t offset his weight to the side and fall.

“Just stay with me for a second, Sylvain. I need to get you on the bed and then clean you up.” He says with a tenderness that only comes out when Sylvain is vulnerable and Felix is the one tasked with taking care of him. His feet reach the floor and Felix almost immediately tumbles as the blood rushes through his legs, and grabs the wooden bureau to keep him steady. Once he can stand, untying the knots is light work. The dagger is beside him and ready to be yielded if any of them get stuck, but Felix easily unties them with a few tugs. By the time he’s finished Sylvain is almost asleep on the chair, and getting him to move onto the bed requires more strength than Felix currently has.

“There we go big boy.” He helps Sylvain stand and slings his arm over his shoulders to support him as they walk over to the bed. None of the cuts from the dagger are deep enough that reopening them would be an issue but Felix is careful nonetheless, doing his best to stop Sylvain from sagging onto his bed like a ragdoll and doing any damage. Even though he does his best to dampen it he still falls onto the bed, and Felix has to rearrange his limbs so that when he wakes up it’s without a muscle ache. 

“Luffyou, -elix.” Sylvain mumbles through sleep, and the words are thick like his mouth is full of cotton. His eyes are closed so he doesn’t see Felix shake his head with a wry smile and pull his hair into a bun, and when he leans over and presses a kiss to Sylvain’s cheekbone he smiles through his sleep. Felix is used to saying I love you into dark rooms while he rests beside him, but he doesn’t have to punish himself for it now that Sylvain says it back.

Sylvain has left a space between his body and the wall for Felix to slip into and sleep beside him, and Felix is cold and desperate to get out of his clothes but before he can join him he has to clean the cuts on Sylvain’s arms and chest. He grabs the sealed jar of grain alcohol from the bureau and a clean rag and starts to gently dab at him, pressing softly at the scars he’s left on him and tracing the ones that are from injuries. There’s one particularly nasty one that goes across his left pectoral that Felix knows Sylvain got from protecting him. More than a year later and the wound is fully healed, but the scar in its place is thick and red, a tight dark ridge over his skin that looks like it could burst under too much pressure.

Eventually, Felix has to stop himself from tracing Sylvain’s scars and retelling himself the story of how he got each one, because he knows that at some point he’ll come across one that he doesn’t want to be reminded of the story behind. If trees can be aged by their rings, Sylvain can be aged by the scars across his torso, and Felix is sure he’s the only person that knows the tale behind all of them. Once he’s satisfied with his work he discards the rag and places the jar of alcohol beneath the bed so that it doesn’t get knocked onto the floor and smash when they wake up, (a lesson learned from experience) and lies next to Sylvain. The bed is barely big enough for one fully grown man let alone two, and if it was anyone else beside him Felix knows that he’d feel anxious and smothered and unable to sleep. Having Sylvain’s chest pressed up against his back brings a type of warm comfort that’s found rarely and is often fleeting in times like these, and part of him wants to stay awake until dawn so that it isn’t wasted and he can appreciate every moment. Eventually he decides against it after reminding himself that these days Sylvain sleeps beside him more often than not, pressing a kiss against his forehead and settling himself in his arms.

“Goodnight, Sylvain.”

Sylvain just sighs deeply and pulls him closer.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i welcome comments + if anyone notices something that needs to be tagged that I missed please let me know!!


End file.
